


In The Summer Rain, I'll Be Your Umbrella

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Rain, Retirementlock, Umbrella, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:49:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/630062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mystrade forty years into the future on their wedding anniversary. Mycroft has a surprise for his husband, involving summer showers and an old umbrella.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Summer Rain, I'll Be Your Umbrella

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flubber2kool](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flubber2kool/gifts).



Mycroft Holmes leaned back in his chair and glanced up at the summer sky through his glasses, smiling at the way the sun shone through the green tree leaves above his head. It was a lovely day out, the perfect weather for his fortieth wedding anniversary, no denying that. A few clouds had appeared in the sky, and they looked rather odd. Perhaps they'd get some rain, maybe even a summer shower. 

It had been years since he'd seen one, and he had always been quite fond of them. Something about watching the rain fall while the sun still shone in the sky warmed the Iceman's heart. There were many fond memories of summer showers for the former government official, most notably the one that had happened on his daughter's wedding day. Victoria had laughed about it, saying that it was just the universe's way of saying that while things would be hard sometimes, the light of her husband's and family's love would get her through anything. Mycroft had rolled his eyes at the sentiment, but secretly believed that Victoria had been right; she had been married nearly ten years now, and had two gorgeous children. His and Greg's grandchildren. Two more little ginger geniuses with the now-famous Holmes brain running amok. 

The image of Hamish, Sherlock and John's son, flashed into his mind. He remembered the first day he had met his nephew, a gorgeous little boy with big green eyes and bright blonde curls. Sherlock and John had been immensely grateful for Mycroft's government position at the time, as it allowed them access to an experimental gene-splicing program, which allowed them to have a child of their own, both of their own. The moment Mycroft laid eyes on Hamish, with his beautiful curls and inquisitive eyes, it cemented his want for children. The very same day, he had gone home, stood in front of his husband, and announced his want for a child.

After a year and a half of searching for the correct surrogate, the task had eventually fallen to Mycroft's beloved Anthea, and she had done it gladly. There had been hardships, sure; the constant fear of something going horribly wrong, the nervousness of having a child of your own, a tiny, helpless human being that you were responsible for, that you had to take care of. It had put a lot of stress on their marriage, but the minute they had first held their daughter, heard her first cry, all was forgotten.

Victoria and Hamish were close enough in age that they were able to rely on each other when their school days began, something Sherlock and Mycroft had been unable to do. Luckily, the childrens' brilliant minds were finally being prized, instead of picked on. Victoria had gone through her rebellious phases, every teenager and child did, but hers consisted more of hacking into government servers and changing Mycroft's code name to something ridiculous, or changing his ringtones to embarrassing, inappropriate songs and calling during important summits. There were ups and downs during this time, there were in every family, but Mycroft felt that for a Holmes family, they were actually quite normal. Gregory, his dear Gregory, had been their rock, always careful to mediate discussions and keep the two geniuses from murdering each other. Not that Mycroft and Victoria didn't love each other to death (they would, by their own admission, die for the other if need be, or for Greg) but when you put two explosive chemicals in a room and light a match, the results won't always be picture-perfect. The one thing that always put a smile on his face, though, was Victoria's graduation speech.

He smiled at the recollection of his daughter walking across the stage at her university graduation, and dedicating her speech to Mycroft and Greg. That was the first time Mycroft had ever cried in public. Both his and his husband's eyes had been blurred with tears by the time the ceremony was over, Victoria's as well. They had hugged, and cried, and the two men had told their daughter just how proud they were of her. It was a moment Mycroft would remember for the rest of his days.

He closed his eyes as the rain began to fall, slowly at first, just a drizzle. He smiled as the drops hit his white hair, droplets sliding down into his thin eyebrows and over the bridge of his nose. He poked his tongue out to catch a drop, sighing as the crispness of the rain washed over his tongue.

He took as deep a breath as his lungs would allow and let it out slowly, savouring the clean, fresh taste of the rainwater and the smell of the air. Everything seemed so much more peaceful, now. He had retired less than two years before, and his health had already improved tenfold. Sure, he got bored sometimes, but his grandchildren would often come to visit, and he finally had time to finish the book he had been working on since his university days. His life was simple, consisting of visits from his still-insufferable brother and John, deep conversations over the phone with Anthea, a bit of consulting work when the new politicians got into a bit of trouble, and long, lazy days spent exploring the world with his husband. The two had sailed around the world, traveled to China, Russia, and Hawaii on a whim, and spent their thirty-ninth wedding anniversary in the Caribbean. Mycroft's career was over, but his life was far from boring, at least that's what he thought. Yes, he did have a good life, he realized; he wouldn't have ever dreamed of anything better for himself, in all honesty. He thanked his lucky stars every day that he and Greg had spontaneously kissed after Sherlock had been proven to be alive.

With the silly grin still plastered on his face, he turned his head and pressed a kiss to his sleeping lover's skull. 

"Hey, sleeping beauty," he muttered, running his fingers through the grey, thinning hair atop his husband's head. "Looks like we're having a summer shower."

"Hm?" the other man murmured, opening his eyes and glancing up at Mycroft.

"A summer shower. Look, we're both soaked."

"Oh, Christ, why didn't you tell me..."

"Shh," Mycroft placed a finger to his husband's lips, "Come stand on the lawn with me."

"What? Why?"

"Because I want to cross something off my bucket list, and I need your help with that."

"...Fine. Bossy."

"Doormat."

"Pretentious."

Mycroft smirked and took his lover's hand, standing up slowly, allowing his old bones to adjust to the sudden change. He led the former-DI down the stairs and onto the lawn, his umbrella under his arm.

"You still have that tattered old thing?" Greg questioned, "I thought you got rid of that when we moved here."

"Of course not. I keep all my umbrellas. Plus, this one has sentimental value."

"...it does?"

"Oh good god, you're old. You're going senile. Yes, it does. Forty years ago, I kissed you under this umbrella right after our wedding. Remember?"

"You seriously want to recreate our first kiss after our wedding? You old sentimental bastard."

"Shut up and kiss me, dear."

Greg smirked, taking the umbrella from the (formerly) ginger's wrinkled hand and opened it, holding it above their heads and looking up at it. "Holy shit, it's full of holes!" he laughed, "Not much use now."

"Hmph," Mycroft huffed, "Well, all the better to let the sunlight through, then. It is a summer shower, after all."

"Since when did you turn into an optimist?"

"I was always an optimist. You were just too pessimistic to notice it."

"Touche."

"Come here and kiss me, love. I've waited forty years to do this."

"May I ask what you have planned for our fiftieth?"

"Perhaps we'll go skydiving."

Mycroft barked out a laugh at the look of horror on his husband's face, and reassured him that he was only kidding, poking fun at Greg's fear of heights.

"Now, shush and come here." Mycroft took the umbrella and held it over their heads, beckoning his lover to come closer. Greg smiled broadly and stood as closely as he could to Mycroft, leaning up to press a sweet, tender, loving kiss to his lips. He wrapped his arms around the younger man's waist as their lips and tongues danced in a rhythm only they knew, a rhythm that had taken forty years to perfect.

The sunlight shone through the holes in the thin, tattered umbrella, the droplets of rain falling through and landing on the two men's faces. They laughed, and Mycroft sighed contentedly. 

"To the rest of our days being happy as the previous ones have been, and may we always share our anniversaries together."

"Sentimental bastard," Greg chuckled, "I love you."

"I love you too." Mycroft smiled, bringing the love of his life closer to kiss him again.


End file.
